[Verlyna's Emerald Pond] Marking the Land (Open)

[Dlight]

10th of Spring, 511 AV, It had taken a lot of courage for Dlight to carry his violin throughout Alvadas that late evening, the Zith cautious of the dangers of the city, real or not. If the stone of the city could turn to fur and water in a night, he wasn't going to underestimate it's ability to change to something destructive like fire. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that it was more paranoia than caution. Dlight had reached the Emerald Pond accidentally, intending to find the Gaping Maw so he could play in the wilderness surrounding Alvadas, however something about it seemed enchanting. It's deep green's were beautiful, light shining through to it between the branches of the trees that were beginning to bloom once again however not blinding him. Maybe it was the high walls of Alvadas in combination with the illusionary magic, but Syna seemed to not bother him as much here. The Zith paused long enough to consider his options, and then settled on playing at the delightful spot he'd found. Heck, maybe he'd even take a quick bath afterwards, the water looked clear enough. He carried the case by the handle that his hands had become accustomed to, black robe that had been draped over his shoulder dropping to the ground. The wooden case was gathered in both his hands, held close to his chest as he stooped, bending to softly deliver it onto the protective surface of his robe that acted more like a blanket lately than a piece of clothing. Dlight examined to make sure none of it was against the surface of the slightly wet grass, then brought his hands up to the complicated clasp that held it shut. It was undone in one fluid movement that looked as if it was as simple and natural as flapping his wings. As his tradition went, he picked up the violin resting inside of it, one hand by the neck the other holding the body, then assumed the playing position and began practicing, intending to play past sunset. He was a beginner, but his knowledge of music composition allowed his testing of the bow against the strings seem at least somewhat rhythmic, made the sometimes discorded sounds that escaped the violins f-holes be corrected more easily.

[Dramiana Rosenthal]

Long, she tarried at the bank of Verlyna beneath a hollow made of the antiquated roots of the weary water oaks. Their peaceful boughs swayed and shivered in the wind. With gentle, dainty fingers, she braided the sinews of her raven hair while reclining upon the comfortable moss and lichen attempting to demystify the cryptography written in her mother’s book. [img2=left]http://www.akihabaracosplay.com/images/Dra.jpg[/img 2]It was rumored that prior to her acquaintance with Julius Aldoid, she had spent most of the winter here. But it wasn’t until the young magecrafter’s warning that the half-Nestran exercised caution when gazing into the water. Remarkably, Damiana had managed not to become hypnotized by the reflective surface supposedly because she was so engrossed in reading her grimoire or by drifting all-too-often into the depths of daydreams. So she sat at sunset enjoying the spring aroma in her nook. The great length of her fetter was raveled over the fork of a verdant bough, allowing her book to settle upon her lap and her braided hair was pulled over her right shoulder. The chain did not rattle, and its other end was still securely bound to her by several ties and knots. Her black brocade gown had been cleaned by Mr. Aldoid in return for her summoning talents, but was quickly becoming untidy again in lieu of the moisture and moss surrounding the pond. Dutifully, she styled her hair while humming and scanning over the delicate pages with her fingertips. “There dwells within the emerald glade, Mistakes that other fools have made. Take caution should your gaze ensnare, More than myths that tarry there…” “Riddles. Riddles – always, riddles!” thought she. Mia was never fond of the cryptic text that her ancestors used when writing their tomes. Using a bookmark Juli had loaned her as a make-shift ribbon for her dark locks, an unwelcome distraction broke her accord. There came the discordant noise of strings, and the crude reverberations of wood. A violin. A violin played by an amateur. An amateur violin being played by an amateur. At first, there was a desperate attempt to keep focus, for great lengths had been taken to copy the summoning reference materials from the Sunken Conundrum (“Of Coordinates and Other Matters by Admanios the Estranged”), yet this proved to be fool-hardy when the notes lilted in and out of tune. With great difficulty, she untangled her enormous chain, re-wound it around her entire left-side, gathered her kirtle and composure, and went tip-toeing around the embankment until the view of bat wings obscured her panorama. “If you love it, you must prove it,” she said plainly and softly, jostling a great loop of her chain back over her arm to keep it from slipping. There was no care or caution exercised at the fact that he was Zith or not. Truth be told, she was so captivated by her book and so annoyed that the captivation was broken, that it could have been a giant standing ten stories tall and she’d still have proceeded with the recklessness. Despite the awkwardness of them, they were not spiteful in the least – but mundane. Her voice was melancholy and wispy, yet dull, flat, and calm. “An object in the care of another must be tamed by its bearer. If you are fearful of it, it will not tell you all of its secrets.” Ironically, Mia had spoken with the same cryptic flow that she had chided earlier. Guess she was a Noire after all.

[Dlight]

The bold but careless movement of his bow across the strings slowed, Dlight's body moving from it's playing position to a more relaxed slouch until the bow retreated from the violin. He'd heard the words over the music, or noise, he'd been creating throughout the Pond's relaxing greenery that gave the place a feeling of privacy. His privacy had been broken, though, and while Dlight couldn't say he was surprised, he definitely wasn't pleased.

The Zith turned towards the source of the voice, the object and it's slim partner grasped protectively against his chest. A woman stood before him, her appearance interesting, perhaps even unique. She stood small, pale, and devoid of hips or breasts that would mark her as a woman, however her amethyst eyes alone spoke of wisdom that a mere girl wouldn't have. His black eyes searched her own, perhaps looking for an answer to the riddle that she told.

Ultimately, Dlight continued to clutch his violin to his chest, hands splaying over it's body to protect it from her eyes. "If I am fearful of it.." He mumbled to her, voice loud enough for her to hear yet contained enough to hold back any emotion, which seemed to run rampant when performing. "Fearful I am not, determined I am." A small scowl passed his lips before disappearing, appearing as if it could have been a trick of Syna's lowering light, "And bold you are, indeed." It was said with just the slightest bit of bitter amusement.

[Dramiana Rosenthal]

"I am my mother's daughter," she said simply, smiling, nearing the Zith with slow, deliberate, but harmless motions. Her dainty fingers reached for the violin, for she only intended to set it back upon his shoulder. Due to him being so protective of it, however, she brushed his bat-like wings and became instantly fascinated with those instead. Abandoning the notion of the violin, she began to tenderly stroke or slightly unfold them, admiring them with the utmost care. "Wherever did you get these?" she asked, dropping her elegant speech as she so often did when exemplifying the childish wonder of a young woman. Even though the little summoner was supposed to be something of a Stoic, her violet eyes glistened with wonder. Had she honestly thought them to be worn or a prop, until now? Did she think him an illusion and that's why she wasn't so frightened of him? "And a tail!" continued Dra-miana, nearly dropping her book as both of her hands were forced free just so she could touch it. It was almost as if their prior, serious conversation had never existed. Now it was just an enchanted young girl dallying about a Zith as if he were something right out of a fairy tale. "It's a demon!" she cried happily. "A violin playing demon! Ionu must've had fun when he dreamed you up!" Just as suddenly as her happy mood had flared up, it was gone - caught in the sobriety of depression. Clearing her throat, the invalid backed away from him a step-and-a-half and answered him in a somber, smoky tone. "Perhaps you're trying too hard. My book tells the tale of a girl who weeps when she plays the fiddle because each note is so honest that it cuts through her flesh until the melody pours from her eyes. Should you see her play, everything else seems like a lie. Perhaps it is in this village of lies that you can not see its truth?" What a strange young woman! Probably insane - especially to be carrying a chain like that around half of her body.

[Dlight]

The movement of bringing his precious instrument closer towards him was swift, arms tightly bringing it closer to his chest and torso twisting away from the strange woman's touch. A deep sneer marred his previously semi-calm face, the high-pitched screech known among Zith's as an aggressive warning cry nearly about to emit from his dry throat when the woman's hand that grew continuously closer landed on his wing. The noise abruptly died before it could escape into the sky, Dlight's attention being drawn to the sudden fascination she expressed with the leathery appendages that allowed him to fly.

Her touch was careful and soft, but it did nothing to sooth the slight curl of Dlight's upper lip, nor did it ease the tenseness of his feral, protective stance. His inky eyes glanced down at the hair of his loincloth, wondering if the woman had mistaken it for a tail, as the last time he checked, he hadn't sprouted tail nor fin no matter how often he fell into water. She seemed the type to easily mistake things, perhaps more the type to belong in the insane Alvadas; her words one moment were as solid and emotionless as stone, and the next they were captivated, full of life.

The Zith regarded her with only a careful, calculating stare, the chain around her seeming to be either some sort of bind or perhaps a tool for climbing. Her clothes seemed too long, too obstructive to allow for much movement, though, at least not the careful movement needed to climb heights that required the help of chain. They must be some kind of bind, then.

"Demon?!" He found himself repeating, mind catching up with the words that she spoke, voicing her idiotic conclusions. The tall Zith nearly recoiled from her, offense clearly dimming his eyes that had brightened with animosity, his cheeks heating beneath their thin coat of black fur. Dlight's tongue was held just barely, long enough for it to go slightly slack when the strangely pale woman retreated from him nearly more than an arm's length away, seeming to forget about her fascination with the body he possessed while under Syna.

"This village of lies is my resting place for now," Dlight answered her with the barest of snarls, black eyes tamed as they bore into her own, finding the color ironically familiar to his Leth-given form's. "and I am not monster nor illusion." His lips turned upwards with pride, "Under Syna, I own the body before you, one that died long ago yet lives once again." The violin bow clutched in his clawed hand swept down, traveling down the length of his Zith form. His arm raised upwards, pointing to the sun, his God's lover who shined brightly as She lowered. "Yet when Leth rises, I become a creature born of the night, bound to the earth despite belonging in the sky. Cursed."

The word was spoken with a tinge of insanity that could match her own, nearly a whisper, as if it was a secret not meant to be heard by anyone besides himself and the woman he shared it with. "Do you know who We are?" Gone was anger and offense in his black eyes, replaced by a level stare, Dlight patiently waiting the woman's answer. The Fallen, The Sky Children, Ethaefel, all were labels that tried to describe himself and others that had fallen from the Ukalas; they were useless, though, as nothing could compare to the names that Leth and Syna gave to their followers.

[Dramiana Rosenthal]

" The movement of bringing his precious instrument closer towards him was swift, arms tightly bringing it closer to his chest and torso twisting away from the strange woman's touch. A deep sneer marred his previously semi-calm face, the high-pitched screech known among Zith's as an aggressive warning cry nearly about to emit from his dry throat when the woman's hand that grew continuously closer landed on his wing. The noise abruptly died before it could escape into the sky, Dlight's attention being drawn to the sudden fascination she expressed with the leathery appendages that allowed him to fly. Her touch was careful and soft, but it did nothing to sooth the slight curl of Dlight's upper lip, nor did it ease the tenseness of his feral, protective stance. His inky eyes glanced down at the hair of his loincloth, wondering if the woman had mistaken it for a tail, as the last time he checked, he hadn't sprouted tail nor fin no matter how often he fell into water. She seemed the type to easily mistake things, perhaps more the type to belong in the insane Alvadas; her words one moment were as solid and emotionless as stone, and the next they were captivated, full of life. The moment she realized she had lifted up the stringy fabric of his girdle, there was a prompt action to return it to its proper place with a slight gasp and a redness of the cheeks. Though she had called him demon, there was wonder in her eyes, and an ardent, tender sort of observation in her fingertips that were so fascinated by his wings. "This village of lies is my resting place for now," Dlight answered her with the barest of snarls “There is some truth in all fiction and some fiction in all truth,” replied Damiana in an ethereal sort of voice, straightening the long, flowing black bell-sleeve on her right arm. …black eyes tamed as they bore into her own, finding the color ironically familiar to his Leth-given form's. "And I am not monster nor illusion." She had to cut him off, however, the minute the word “Monster,” had come out of his mouth. “Monster,” said she, reviled by the word. “I never said monster. No summoner worth her profession would ever dare to call anything a monster.” Continuing to straighten the right side of her clothes, she continued while a brusque wind caused her black hair to fly all over her face. “Monster is a term uncivilized infidels and ignoramus’ use. I never said monster, I’ll have you know. I said demon. There is a distinct difference, you know. Imagine calling forth a great beast from the beyond and calling it a “monster!” Well! You’re bound to be eaten! It would be equivalent to calling me a spider. We don’t use monster anywhere in our profession.” His lips turned upwards with pride, "Under Syna, I own the body before you, one that died long ago yet lives once again." The violin bow clutched in his clawed hand swept down, traveling down the length of his Zith form. His arm raised upwards, pointing to the sun, his God's lover who shined brightly as She lowered. "Yet when Leth rises, I become a creature born of the night, bound to the earth despite belonging in the sky. Cursed." “I know a thing or two about curses,” she added, bowing a little. “Though it seems you speak of being cursed to be ‘ugly.’ At least, ugly in your own definition. That will never do,” continued Mia, returning to touch at his wings as he wondered if she had any knowledge of Ethaefal at all. It seemed she had no clue. “I see nothing ugly upon you. Why do you fret over it so?” As the wind settled, so did her eyes upon him, and there was a sobriety of her nature that was both cryptic yet full of wonder. On the far horizon, the sun had nearly set, hinting that an Ethaefal may stand where a Zith once had. “Can you fly?” continued the girl shyly. “Could you carry me, I wonder?”

[Dlight]

"Summoner?" The Zith asked in surprise, brows drawing together at the term. He'd never met a summoner before, nor anyone that would treat a demon with such respect-- yet her questions and sudden mood changes effectively distracted him. It was quickly realized that for once, his company had no idea from where he hailed, nor what he spoke of as far as transforming with the passing of day and night. Her words regarding his appearance made Dlight confused for a moment-- ugly? Nothing ugly upon him? Well, while his Zith body certainly wasn't unappealing to the eye and was stronger, it wasn't his true self. Was that picky? Perhaps the Ethaefel simply was frustrated that his Zith body made for the darkness of the night sky was stuck beneath Syna's aggravating, bright gaze. "I can most certainly fly," Dlight answered her, his wings twitching just the slightest beneath her touch. They flexed, slowly unfurling to their full width, each dark, leathery wing reaching an arms length past his shoulders. He had died in his late-20's, quite a survivor for a lone Zith bonecrafter, and his body along with his wings were strong, grown fully. He'd died and been reborn in his prime, considering that his kin grew twice as fast as other races. A beast having been given wisdom and patience from Leth, Dlight had matured from his past life, only a single violent thought passing through his mind when the woman asked if he could carry her. And I most certainly steal you into the night. Yet it left in an instant, perhaps only flashing within his deep, inky eyes a moment before they lightened once again. With a quick glance at the sun showing that it was nearly time for him transformation, the Zith answered her swiftly and bluntly, "Grab hold, if you'd like," He slowly stooped to one knee, laying his violin and bow carefully across the robe that had become more of a convenient sheet than clothing. Dlight's arm's extended forward, cradled and ready to whisk the woman away bridal style. All she needed to do was step forward, wrap her arms over his shoulders, and grab hold tight. With dusk approaching fast, the Zith wouldn't travel far nor high, but he was looking forward to the little flight. It was surprising that humans, especially women, were fascinated by his wings, and by the notion of flying. They seemed oblivious to his violent, grisly past and the unmerciful nature of his race... and it was nice. It was refreshing to be studied with wonder, rather than scorned and regarded with fright. "The chains may help, even," Dlight gave her a small, tentative smile, "wrap them around my arms, if you fear the sky."

[Dramiana Rosenthal]

His admonition of flight was just the jolt to her heart that she had hoped for. A race capable of flight? Native to Mizahar? Why, you’d be silly not to befriend them! At least, that was the logic someone like Dra-Miana operated by. "Grab hold, if you'd like," said he. And grab hold she did, gently stepping forward and ensuring that her chain was secure and her book neatly clasped and fastened to her waist. He was both soft and furry, so it wasn’t any sort of feeling one would get from homespun or felt, heavy wool, or uncured leather. The girl was also alarmingly light and frail – the sort of physique that had no business carrying a chain like that around. But it was also linked and crafted finely and delicately, so small that it could have been mistaken for jewelry, yet strong enough to be used as a weapon without breaking. “Don’t venture too high,” she said softly. “I don’t want to inconvenience you. I promise I’ll give you something special in return.”

[Dlight]

He rolled his neck once, feeling that both the frail woman's hold was solid and that his muscles wouldn't been too tense when he took off. A careful arm then slid around her small frame that was made larger than necessary due to her clothing. It tightened, pressing the material in against her back until it seemed his grasp was strong enough, and then Dlight repeated the process, his other arm bracing to support beneath her knees. Her form was as light as it had appeared beneath all those drapes of cloth, her chain surprisingly lacking the weight it should have had. With a glance towards the setting sun, the Zith confirmed in his mind that it would have to be low to the ground indeed. "Something special?" Dlight questioned, an impish smile passing as quickly as it had arrived. The woman's eyes were strikingly similar to his other form's, and the Zith realized that Alvadas certainly held intriguing, attractive women-- but perhaps that was narcissistic. After the brief remark, he stood, effortlessly and literally sweeping the woman off her feet and into his strong arms, her hold on his neck bringing her close and safe against his chest. One flap of his wings and a loud gust of wind rushed through the pond, but they weren't off the ground yet. His eyes trained on the woman's, then retreated upwards towards the sky, and another gust was generated. By the third time the strong, well trained muscles of his wings pushed against the air, they were off the ground. Their feet dangled above the grass, and with a quick, brief flaps, they ascended higher, and soon they were rivaling the height of the small trees surrounding the Emerald Pond.

[Dramiana Rosenthal]

The rush of wind was exhilarating and fresh. Damiana inhaled deeply the rarified air. Black locks whipped and curled as the chains softly rustled in the wind. Up. Up. Up, they soared. Damiana could count the number of instances where she had smiled on her hand, but a wide-opened smile was definitely called for. With the shimmering sunset to their right and the arc of stratus clouds above, Damiana lost herself, spreading out her arms in a gesture of pretend flight. The glimmer of adolescent mischief returned into her irises - a thing long lost to pain, burden, and the unbearable sense of duty. "Higher!" she called, unaware of Dlight's inevitable metamorphosis. "Faster!" It would be difficult to deny her those simple pleasures, considering she was laughing - a thing that hadn't happened in ages.